Tales of the Wet Burrito

A lot can happen in a short amount of time.

A lot can happen in a large amount of time.

And sometimes nothing happens at all.

There, my friends, you have the sum total of my experience back here in my home town for the last twenty-four hours.

The flight was uneventful, as most of them are.  Manchester to O'hare to Tulsa.

My rental car is a cherry-red PT Cruiser.  I always seem to wind up with a cherry-red PT Cruiser.  Since they're kind of on the economic endangered-species list I suppose it's good I've had a chance to experience them but it's still creepy, nonetheless.

My sister and I surprised my Dad with it.  She hopped out of the car and convinced him it was her new ride - and that he'd like her new driver even more - that's when I stepped out.

It was a chance to get my sister and Dad's wife in the same room, which has not happened too often - if at all.  

There are some advantages to living a thousand miles away, I suppose.

The city is much, much larger than before - I think the term is "matastisized".  My sister drove me out along Riverside drive, which runs twice - twice - as far as it did back in the day.

And it ended in a casino - a massive structure run by the Creek tribe that officially opens on Saturday.  My sister has been in it.  Like me she's  moderate gambler, which means she's generally a successful gambler.

My mother played Cherokee Bingo for years and there are many stories attached to it, none of which I can find time to go into here.

Dinner was based on my deciding what food I most missed - besides grits it was real Mexican.  Since my sister taught a lot of really great Hispanic families we wound up a El Rio Verde - home to the famous Wet Burrito.

This was a honking big burrito, filled, in my case, with chorizo and smothered with salsa, guacamole and sour cream.

Hence the term "wet".

I also had some of the best red beans and rice I've had in a decade or more - at least in Portland.

This is not something to be ashamed of - chili and hearty soups are very much part of New England cuisine.  Still, people in Tulsa have found uses for chili that New England can only dream of.

I'm struck by the changes and by the things that have stayed the same.  The city has a strange feel to it, there is a lot more clear space where there once were houses.  The network of highways has carved new vistas to see the city - but taken away so much of the quality of the space.

I don't think I could live here like this - too much is spread out from the center of the city.  There are so many stores, so many enterprises at work.  I'm told that the recession is having much less of an effect here - but that may come at a price.

I'd write more but I'm tired and my other, older sister, is going in for surgery tomorrow to work on her hand.  Don't know what's going to happen.  Strange that a few day's getaway is turning out that way.

Later I'll write about rain, tears, and praying for the late, great Harry Sebran

Dancing On the Eve of Oklahoma

This is a very special evening.

This is just like every evening of my life.

Tomorrow I fly home to Oklahoma for three days - my father's wife - I can't bring myself to call her "my step-mother" has had a series of strokes.  

Dad could be in danger of losing a second wife.  I, having had none, can only imagine the intensity of emotion such a circumstance could generate.

I'm writing this from the NorthStar, watching a basic tango lesson being taught, wolfing - yes, wolfing - a bowl of chili.

Tonight - as some of these pictures will show - is very foggy.  I've recently decided that we have officially moved into "early Spring" - you can't call this "late Winter" any longer.

Portland tends to be very foggy at the strangest times.  Up here on the base of Munjoy Hill you can easily see a hill of fog, dominating the skyline of the town.

Summer, especially, seems to bring this kind of behavior on.  You can be sitting by the ocean at the base of Munjoy Hill, nod off for a nap and suddenly wake up in the middle of a Hammer Horror film.

Amazing.

I will admit that Hammer Horror films were very atmospherically photographed, so it is a pretty shock to have.

It looks like a very busy evening will happen here.  The NorthStar beginner lesson had about 12 people, the North Street School lesson seemed to have about 14 - add the regulars to that and it may be a very crowded floor.

I'm rambling, I know.  Tomorrow I'm flying back to Oklahoma - I can't really call it "home".  I'll stop by Kennebunk to see how Mia is doing.  She is doing as well as can be expected - and our expectations have changed in the last week or so.

Then off from Manchester.

I'll update this as I go, as there is a lot to think about, a lot to do.

Meanwhile the fog is outside and I can get lost in my feelings about tonight.  It was spent with friends but it's very hard to keep it all straight.

Well, best things is to just take the time and let things happen.

Many Pieces in the Same Place

I've been up to raid my friend Mia's house - pulling data off her computer, grabbing CD's for her to listen to.

Some of the copses of trees still had snow under them.  Anyplace else in world - everyplace else - is well into Spring.

Maine?  Not so much.

I celebrated my birthday weekend by sitting in the hospital emergency room with her.  We were worried some kind of "incident" had occurred in her brain - but it was just an infection.  Many, many tests and a long time sitting in a curtained room telling knock-knock jokes to keep up our spirits.

A final determination sent her back to her facility at 4 a.m. - and I crawled off to sleep in the bath.

On the same day I found myself scheduled for full shifts as a Creative at the Orchard.

This was the start of the payoff I've taken so many risks to play for.

So it has been a week of startling contemplations:  The stark, transitory beauty of late Winter/early Spring in the mountains of Maine.

The danger of losing one of my oldest friends ever - and then getting her back, at least most of her.

Getting a chance to do what I do well (besides write music) which is explain and help people find more ways to be themselves.

Now I learn my father's wife (I can't call her my "stepmother") has had a stroke.  I'm taking steps to support him (which I'll write about later).

I hope the toughening such transitions require is worth the inevitable systemic strain they cause.

Watching the Changes Happen

Facebook gallery is here.

Sitting at Party More, what has become my usual Thursday night post.

Long streamers with Batman logos festoon the rafters.   There is a woman dressed as a cat - another sporting a flashing red light on her head is occupying a space at the bar.

Several places.

But, I've been out today.  My friend Mia is still in the cardiac unit at Maine Med - her incident from the other night has been officially confirmed as a heart attack - and a bad one.

I've spent most of the day either doing laundry or waiting for her to get out of tests - tests which ultimately confirmed the severity of her cardiac event.

The days have definitely gotten warmer and brighter.  As I've said before I don't consider Spring as being officially underway until the street sweepers came out to pick up all the trash on the side of the roads.

That process has officially begun.  I was moving laundry into my apartment when the street sweeper came by.  It was on the work of a moment to grab my camera and shoot.

It was a neat thing.  The driver waved at me.  It was very loud and swishy (strange how many of those types cross my path).  I watched it drive away and then I went inside to finish putting the clothes away.

So I've been feeling a strange, strange combination of emotions: satisfaction and relief from the weather and my tango work; a tense worry about Mia and where it will lead her.

More work to do.

The View From a Tattered Springtime Barstool

Facebook gallery is here.

I'm writing this from Geno's Bar.  Sue me.  There's a scotch and soda at my side - Jameson's.

I don't know who made the soda.

We're in a very strange season - Spring has been here for a couple of weeks.  JR, Your Friendly Bartender and Owner, is chatting with a blonde lady, mostly about the process of being a landlord for rental units.  One of our local comedians is at the other end, both of us are watching the conversation.

It's too early to have a gin and tonic - the soda is sitting very well.

My surrogate older sister is in the cardiac unit of a local hospital - first a stroke, then surgery to open her carotid artery, and, last night, an apparent heart attack.  The plan was to head back to her rehab home to recover from the stroke - then the surgery - now a heart attack.

My father's wife - still seems strange to call her my "step-mother" - has just had a stroke.  Dad's visit has been postponed.  She is going to be OK but he's not going to leave her side, which I admire and understand.

This has a big adumbration for my own health.  I'm doing better with losing weight but still have a long way to go.

We're in a strange place in Spring.  The trees are not budding yet - there is a warmth to the air but the evenings are still cold.  You can still see the land but not for much longer.  

I've been up north to my SOS's house to pull things for her to use.  The views are wonderful and will be the subject of their own post soon.

It's rather pleasant.  

Where Fancy Lies

Fancy goes to strange places.

Imagination takes you to places that you sometimes don't want to go to - but you have to go.

A willingness to see possibilities that are not safe, decent, acceptable - sane, even.  

Those who are guided by their fancies are led down dark, wet streets, lit by streetlamps that don't all work.

They meet each other quietly, standing in circles of stone benches on warm Summer nights, expecting to see things that others don't.

They rest, leaning on the walls of cloistered gardens, watching the shadows of towers pass slowly in the late afternoon sun.

Doors and wrought-iron gates that are simply closed to others are open to them, leading their minds into hidden gardens of knowledge.

They line up the strange-colored rocks on the dark shelves of museums lost to the mind of man.

Mannequins smile as they walk by.  The feet of some of their dance partners make funny clicks as they move to the music.

Fancy leads the search for the Seven Lost Phoenixes of Portland.  The birds talk to those who are patient enough to find them.  They tell knock-knock jokes and eat you if you don't laugh.

But you catch fire as they do and come back to life and everyone laughs even more.

Dance music - tango, hip-hop, minuets, waltzes - all sorts - brings Fancy to the surface.

The Lindy Hop?  Not so much.

Fancy leads to you bright places.

Sometimes a clean, well-lighted place will host fancy. 

Sometimes leaving such a place as fast as your feet will take you will lead you right into the arms of Fancy ...

... and then you're off again.

We all need to walk with Fancy - those with fat bank accounts and well-concieved and executed jobs - and those who are under-employed but know where enough food to share can be found.

So it is with Fancy that I walk tonight.  Perhaps only as far as the bottom of the steps here at the Empire - perhaps as far as my grave.  There is music, there are people that I respect and, I think, am growing to love.

Perhaps that will stay with me as well.

Sunny Spring So Far ...

MobileMe gallery is here.

I don't want to jinx this.  It's a very bright, almost - almost - warm day out.  

My computer's widget tells me that it's 58º outside here in the Old Port.  I have a 3 p.m. tango workshop to attend.

I'm the proud possessor of a new hybrid bike.  It's outside, securely - very securely - chained to the parking meter.  It's last year's model, marked down around 50% or I'd never have considered buying the thing.

My goal is to start riding at least an hour a day - 30 minutes out and then 30 minutes back, checking to see how far I can go before bumping the time/distance up each time.  It's the same system I'd use to start training to run.  Since my heel still hasn't decided to heal up from the unfortunate incident of the new shoes I have to use a bike to get moving out.

I've forgotten the feeling of fun that goes with riding a bike for any distance.  I've only had this one for two days and if I'm not careful I can over work myself.

To top it all off I took a tango lesson with Javier Rochwanger (of Buenos Aires) the other day.  It was a great time - we tend to work on making me comfortable with moving using the sense of time and phrasing I possess as a composer.

All told it makes for some real fun.

This is that short, rare time when the leaves really have not started to bud, when you can see the most interesting sights between the trees, looking through the branches.

A lot of the dust has been swept up - this makes it easier for those of us burdened with contact lenses.

I like seeing the bones of the land.  Warm greens will be welcome, warmth in general even more so.

But this brief period give you a sense of the ground that surrounds us.

So I try to get out as much as I can.  The Orchard has been calling me in a lot.  This is nice as the money is welcome.  Additionally there is a renewed sense of the fun that so many people bring into the place.  You never know who will walk in - you never know what problems or personalities they will share.

It's like adding RAM to a computer.  It gives you more headroom, software can execute itself with much greater efficiency.  I feel like I'm much more myself.  This is a great feeling.

Well, I have to run - or ride - up to my tango class.  It should be fun.  Looking out the window here at JavaNet I see what looks like an army of people parading by.

I think this weather, this day, will be the turning point of the season.  It doesn't mean we won't get more snow - it just means that the context has changed, so a storm of any kind will mean just less than at any other time in the previous season.

I can't wait.